


a bullet on butterfly wings

by badAquatic, orphan_account



Series: Trailerstuck [55]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Drug Dealing, Drugged Sex, F/M, Illustrated, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:31:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1955205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two weeks have gone by since the old man went missing and Jade still isn’t herself. </p><p>Takes place after "mirroring hope and fear".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. another quiet evening

\--gildedTrollop[GT] is idle!--

\--trickyGal[TG] began cheering gildedTrollop[GT]!--

 

TG: JAKE!! JAAAAKE!!

 

\--gildedTrollop[GT] is online!--

 

GT: Trox what in the shit is it?

GT: You just woke me up from a great sleep so it better not be for nothing

TG: Its THREE in the AFTERNOON jake!!!

GT: Your point being what? im no bloody pleb i dont have to be anywhere

TG: BLUH!!!

TG: you are SOOOOO lazy like SERIOUSLY!!

TG: do you spend all your time in BED?!

GT: As if you would be complaining about me being in bed luv

TG: HEE HEE!!

TG: you are a VEEERY naughty boy!!

GT: And dont i know it

GT: Seriously luv why the hell did you wake me up?

TG: i found a new hookup!! Its gonna be super AWESOME jakeykins!!

GT: What is it this time and please make it fast

TG: well one of our fugee maids lives outside the domes in one of those plebhoods where you can get basically anything

GT: Faster

TG: she said theres someone selling a new fix and they have one of those antiquated dens and everything!! and it’s the real deal not like donkdreg horrorshows they have in the pleb dreglands!!  

TG: theres curtains and people sitting on soft silky sheets while they get their fix!! sounds retrocool right? RIGHT?!  

GT: Does sound much retrocool lets go

TG: right now??

GT: Sure and very serious as cass i am i aint got shit to do around here but watch the screenless

GT: Ill get joan and well shoot a vac out there now

TG: AWESOME!!

 

\--trickyGal[TG] ceased cheering gildedTrollop[GT]!--

 

You turn to the lump besides you in bed and nudge it. “Up, my dark haired beauty. I don’t pay you to lay around.”  

“Yes, Master Golgotha.” The woman slides out of bed. She’s mutated to all hell but the ample features make up for it. A bit of surgery and she’d be a regular pneumatic girl.

The maid lights you a hashish cigarette. Her orange-yellow eyes are watery from smoke. “Anything else you want, sir?”

“Tell the kitchen to make me breakfast before I go. Something light.”

“Yes, sir.” She picks her clothes off the floor and slides them on her. Her cleft hands make buttoning an impossible task. Once dressed, she scurries out of the room.

You could’ve sent the kitchen a message from your computer but you love watching servants scurry around. Fugee servants are the best because they have no other option. Its either work or starve so you can do anything you please. You never tempt them with money though. That’s too pleb to you. Why pay for sex? You’re a noble and you have enough charm to get the panties off of the most frigid people. No money and no gifts; just your body and the skill of seductive words. Even Blood and Haze would be impressed with your prowess.

You are Jake Golgotha, heir to the Golgotha Bank, and you are fifteen and at the top of the world.

You shower and walk through your closet, wondering which leggings to wear for today’s outing. Your husktop sits on your nightstand, as it always does in case Troxie wants to pester you.

“Husktop!” you say, debating orange-red striped leggings or salmon striped leggings, “Open Trollichum. Contact: gorgeousGladiator.”

The husktop chirps and you hear Joan’s flat voice, “What is it?”

“Joan! Glad to see you’re vibrant as usual!” You chuckle, “Troxie’s found a place and I’m itching to get out. Get dressed and meet us at the eastern vacport.”

“I have things to do.” Joan says.

“No you don’t.” You put on the orange-red leggings. “You’re going to sit on your duff and play Qwiktime Extinctathon or watch snuffers. Maybe if it gets warm enough you’ll go ectobio hunting in the park? Bluh and double-bluh. Joan. Joan _darling_.”

You drawl your words as you walk over to the husktop. Joan’s face is on the screen and you lean in, tongue in the air. “You know I can’t go anywhere without you. _Come_.”

Joan grins, “Okay, Jakey boy.”

“East vacports and make it quick.” You say and shut off Trollichum.

You leave your room and immediately you hear a voice. “Jake! Jake, come here this instant!”

You scowl and trudge over to the older, white haired man. You had hoped to avoid your father by using the kitchen backdoor but he’s been waiting for you. There’s so much you hate about your father but what you despise the most is the white hair. White hair is a fucking disgrace. Three treatments at the nanospa and he’d look like he was in his thirties. But _no._ He was of that boring generation that believed in natural aging. So very donkdreg. Thank gods _they’re_ dying out.  

Your father waves a plastic slip in your face. “Do you know what this is?”

“Something you’re going to yammer at me for the next thirty minutes about?” you sigh, “Make it quick. I’ve got places to be.”

“Three hundred pounds for shoes? Four hundred pounds for _leggings_ and _hair dye_? Do you have any money management skills at all?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s quality for the price, father.”

“Quality to look like a green fool. Look at what you’ve down to your _hair_. And those _contacts_.” He shakes his head, “There are people who’d give their hands to have True British Black and True British Brown as their _natural_ hair and eyes instead of those _mutant_ shades you’re so proud of.”

“Yes, I should be honored to have been grown in a True British test tube and grown up in a True British bubble with all this True Britishness around me, father dear. I surely shall tell my companions that! Anything else?”

“ _Yes_ , _Jake_. Don’t forget tonight. Twenty o’ clock. I’ll dock your allowance if you’re not there and it won’t matter what your Mother says.”

“Yes, _father_!” You run off before he can ask anymore favors of you.

 

* * *

 

You arrive at the eastern vacport with Troxie and Joan waiting. You exchange kisses and ride the vac out of the domed compound. The privileged domes are tiny compared to the vast stretch of pleblands. In these crowded streets are your people; the _real_ people whose lives aren’t dictated by genetics and stock shares. The people who value simple things in life and have made due with their mutations.

Here is where the _fun_ is.

The plebland vacports are always a delight to look at; colorful with graffiti and devoid of blues (unless they’re bored and want to bust some pleb heads). They never bother you though. Aside from the dyes and auggies, you’re aristocrat as fuck and free to do whatever the hell you please.

Troxie trots ahead, leading you like a Pied Piper through the pleblands. These are her people. She’s always in some pleb neighborhood, donating money to community centers and their shabby schools. She can read the pleb-language better than you can and knows the territories of all the pleb-gangs and what they’ll sell you. You saw your first street fight between the Foxhunters and Savoury Killers with Troxie. Ten times better than any snuffer you ever saw. Treacle Tarts are talented whores and Stargazies threw the best parties and had great drugs.

But today you’re looking for a new scene. Troxie leads you deep into the pleblands where you come to a billiard club at a strip mall. She goes to the bar and with expert swagger, says she wants to “play the felt”, referencing the pool tables. The bartender’s a hulking green leprechaun. He says he’s not sure if they have balls and you should all come with him into the back. You follow him through a door, which leads into a basement thick with smoke.

The basement is dreamlike and not just because of the drugged mist. Elegant curtains cover the walls and the floor is covered with shag carpeting and plush fuzzy pillows. In the center of the room is a giant hookah leaking incense. Next to the hookah is a massive man with bright red cybernetic eyes, a green face, and horns sanded down to small stumps. Sitting on his back is a teen troll girl, younger than all of you.

 

 

“Troxie!” The girl slides off the back of the large man and hugs Troxie. Her face is painted emerald, and her voice has a musical pitch. Her hair is white, which you assume is bleached. “So glad to see you again.”

“Who’s this little number?” She’s a bit too flat for your tastes but in a few years she might shape up.

“Callie Ohpeee, a sweet little Cherub.” giggles the girl. She digs in her pockets and doles out a handful of candy. “Have some candy and join me in my poetry reading.”

You take the offered candy. Troxie pops a jujube into her mouth without hesitation. “This is the _good stuff_. Trust me.”

You chew your handful of gumdrops as Callie climbs back onto the large man.   “I take the candy and I dream up my poet. I see the turnings arms of bright colours and mayhem, ancient heavenly dynamos in order to create the great frog that holds us all in it’s belly. They whisper to me their secrets and I must remember them all…”

Her expression goes from serene to vexed. She rolls off the back of the larger troll and starts looking through a pillow pile. “But it’s such a task! Something to remember and another thing to forget…”

“She sounds awfully batty.” You whisper to Troxie.

“You will too when the _juju_ starts working.” Troxie snickers.

“ _Aha_!” Callie holds up a thick book and tucks it under her arm. She climbs back onto the back of the large troll and opens it. She gets out a pen and starts scribbling. “My fellows, let’s play a game! I love games more than you could ever know. The boundaries of the games are always best and your moves confined. Break your boundaries and you enter the void. Oh.” Her eyes widen. “I remember this: the void is fascinating. It’s the essence of lack, or nothingness. The obfuscation of knowledge, or it’s outright destruction. I am not _void_ but I am partially _void_ for I am in _space._ ”

Her noisy rambling fades as you enter sweet juju dreams. Troxie is right. It is wonderful when it hits you and you embrace the sugary idiocy. Soon you are having diatribes and arguments with Calliope, passionately making your point about complete nonsense that you have mastered with the juju. And Calliope writes it all down, giggling and gobbling more candy.

When you come out of the haze, your head is on the thigh of a strange man and Callie is giggling. Her hands are on Troxie’s breasts and her lime-green bulge is wedged inside of her. Troxie gasps with every little movement but her eyes are dilated, still under the effects of the juju.

Callie smiles at you. Her shirt is gone and you can see the tips of her small heftsacks. How old is she? Her giggling is childlike, but trolls age peculiarly. She could be far older than you think, or far younger. Not knowing is troubling, even for a decadent like you.

“You passed out during the third round! Such a little light weight you are. _Mmm._ Jake. Jakey. Jakeykins. All my stories get boring without passion. It’s nice to see you people rub against each other. It gives me inspiration and better dreams. My brother likes it too.” Callie giggles. “He likes the other one best. It gives him something to…hold on to.”

You see what he’s doing with Joan and decide never to look again. You can’t even recall what you were doing during the third round but from the metal-salt taste in your mouth, it can’t be anything to brag about. You stagger to your feet, avoiding the couples (or triads, or more). You can’t linger here. You’ve got an appointment.

You find your clothes piled in the corner with everyone else’s. You just hope nothing seeps or drips until you can get home. Troxie and Joan will find their way back home.

You limp out of the den, leaving behind the sweetness of the juju. You get to the vacport in one peace, though you’re still aching.

At your manor, the party is underway. Distinguished corporate guests flood the halls in their most fine (drab) attire. You sneak in through the back with the aid of the servants and change into something more “fitting” of your status. A bland suit and pants with polished new black shoes will do well. You pin a black wig to your head and enter the dining hall, where the guests have gathered.

You mingle with the guests in a professional manner. This party is less for celebration and more to gossip with business associates.

“—thinking about moving the arcologies from Bojangles Waters.” says an NEBio CEO. “There are rumblings about war coming out of the conflict between the natives and the Denzia colonists.”

“War? Oh most definitely.” agrees a man, who you know is Joan’s uncle and the head of Crockercorp’s weapon development. “My grandfather taught me a little trick about knowing when war is coming and when people are just spitting venom. You look at the price index for weaponry, specifically automatic ones: your AK-47s, your Tommyguns, and so on. When the prices suddenly drops that means there’s an increase in purchases so someone is stockpiling and the cost of life is becoming less valued.”

“Oh?” chimes a woman, a DynamiCHEM CEO, “So what about those rednecks in the UTC? Guns are cheap there.”

“On the contrary, guns are quite expensive.” the Crockercorp CEO winks, “Now the black market is something else. You see—”

You lose interest in what he has to say. You despise everything corporate and business related. Even your conception was treated like a corporate project, illustrated by committees about the profitability of a ‘genetic merger’ between two warring corp factions: Golgotha Bank and Tesla Bank. Your parents’ marriage was arranged, publicized, and promoted. The media had it all over the news as a real life ‘Romeo and Juliet’ though your parents had never met before.

You leave the socialites behind and head to the balcony adjacent to your mother’s sitting room. When you enter the sitting room, your mother sits her bed up so she can look at you. Actually, it’s not proper to call the contraption a ‘bed’ because it did so much. It moved her, bathed her, fed her, let her watch TV, and did everything else for her since she could barely move. Your mother is one of the last pure aristocrats left on the island and the rest of them are in similar conditions: weak heart, shrunken body, swollen head, an extended chin, and hemophilia. She’s ugly as sin but she’s still your mother.

You’re thankful you inherited _only_ her eye color. It helped that the Golgotha line preferred to marry out, even elevating the occasional pleb to CEO or importing foreigner aristocrats to purge the line of inbreeding depression.

Your mother smiles as much as she can. “Jake…so good to see you. You’re looking more handsome each day.”

“You look lovely too.” You smile back. “Happy Thirtieth Birthday, Mother.”

“I’m so happy.” There are tears in her eyes as she looks at you. “I never thought…I would live this long. You look so much like your father now, Jake…and I lived to see it. I lived longer than my _own_ mother…”

You never met your maternal grandmother. You know she opposed the corp merger and it only went through after she died. “Are you happy here, mother?”

“As happy as one can be. Though…one day, I would like to see what is beyond these walls. I was bottled in these domes and I think I’m never going to see the rest of Young Britain.”

“You might.” You insist, “One day, when you feel up to it, you can go look.”

“I might.” Your mother smiles. “Will you accompany me so that I may greet my guests?”

“Always, mother.”

You may be a terror to your father but you can’t misbehave around your mother. You’re afraid her heart would give out. In the gathering hall, the guests are assembled including your father. Joan and Troxie aren’t present but their family are present, including their younger siblings.  

When your mother’s bed wheels into the room, you all sing a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday. Even your father is even smiling and has a hand on your mother’s shoulders. You can see in the old man’s eyes that he’s grown to love her in their fifteen years together, even if they’ve never been able to share a bed.

You hear the sound of a gun firing and wake up.

You look around the room but nothing has changed. Dirk is clinging to you and sound asleep. You sigh and realize the gun was in your dreams again. If something had happened, Dirk would be the one waking _you_ up.

You don’t know why you’re dreaming about things lost past. Your mother lived and died in those domes, as most of her family had. You’re not sure who would still be alive now.  Perhaps Johan since he was always on the straight and narrow.

Wait, did you ever tell Joan you deflowered him? No. No, you didn’t. Because you were an asshole.

“Thinking about an old girlfriend?” Dirk mutters, sleepily.

“Huh?”

Dirk opens his eyes and glares at you. “You’re… _poking_ me.”

You remember where you are and laugh, kissing his neck. “Maybe I’m thinking about my sexy husband?”

“Liar. You would have already pounced on me.”

“Who says I’m lying?”

“ _I_ say.” Dirk moves away from you and gets out of bed. He’s always been a morning person while you curse the sunlight’s existence. “Come on. We can’t lay in bed all day.”

“But it’s _Sunday.._.” You whine.

“It’s _Saturday_.” Dirk grabs his iHusk off the nightstand. “Territorial musclebeasts nesting at Frog Temple in Becquerel.”

“South New Jack _again_? I was just there last Saturday to rescue Karkat and his butterfly boy-toy.”

Dirk raises an eyebrow. “Did they really have sex?”

“Not to my knowledge but you know trolls.” You sit up in bed. “I still can’t figure it out. Karkat says he’s dating Dave and Vriska but he’s having a fling too? I mean Rufioh’s definitely handsome—” You see the look on Dirk’s face. “—not as handsome as _you_ , darling!”

“Uh huh.” Dirk snorts and walks to the bathroom.

You scramble off the bed and follow him. “Hey! Wait for me!”

“No, pervert.”

But he waits for you, like he always does.

You’re still not looking forward to going all the way back to South New Jack, but you’re constantly getting calls from there. Autumn is here and the beasts are coming back to roost in unwelcomed places. Monday you were at Berezin Lake killing a giant eel lusus nesting at the docks and eating the fish. Tuesday you were in Aquinaldo clearing giant bats out of the Wharton Tunnel. Wednesday you went to Budkin to kill a nest of giant crabs that took over a covered bridge. Now it was musclebeasts in Becquerel.

“I’m all for earning money but I’d like to go someplace different.” You say, pulling on your steel-toed boots. Musclebeasts are always the most hazardous to deal with. Being injured by a musclebeast could leave you crippled for life or brain-dead.

“Giant crabs and eels are easy. This is a well-paying challenge.” Dirk is studying his katanas, debating which ones to bring. “We finish this and we can take a two week break.”

“Usually we don’t pull jobs so close together.” You smirk. “You earning all this money doesn’t have anything to do with a certain _someone’s_ birthday coming up, is it?”

“If you mean Dave, then yes, I plan on getting him something, but I also think saving up couldn’t hurt.”

“It never does. I’m going to check on Jade and then I’ll start packing.”

Two weeks have gone by since the old man went missing and Jade still isn’t herself. She divides her time between mindless watching TV, looking out the window, and on the phone with the DD’s dogs because rent is due. The DD can’t do a forceful eviction for thirty days but that doesn’t mean he’s _not_ going to be an asshole about it.

Downstairs, Jade is on the couch and staring at the TV in a wife beater and has a scarf on her head. She’s been wearing them a lot more often. Dave and Karkat have left for work so it’s just her and the animals. Bec sits at her feet and Sonny Jr. is on the couch next to her.

You shoo the crab lusus away and sit next to her. “How are you feeling?”

“…fine.” she says, not looking at you.

“Jade,” you say, “I’m not the one to lecture people about whether they’re ‘fine’ or not, but I don’t want you to start going grey with worry over this. He’ll turn up.”

Her eyes narrow. “Not _alive_ though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Grandpa is a big game hunter. He’s used to going through the woods and defending himself. For someone to get the drop on him, they’d have to be skilled and there’s no reason for them to keep him alive. If he hasn’t shown up by now, he’s dead.”  

With the unemotional tone to her voice she sounds like Joan. In fact if you cut Jade’s hair and dye it magenta, she would look identical to Joan.

“Hey, that’s not the right attitude to have.” you say, gently, “He may still be okay. Stranger things have happened.”  

“The night before we went to the police, I had a dream.” Jade says, not meeting your eyes, “I dreamt that Grandpa was reading a book to me. It was one of the first books he ever read to me. It was about a nameless monster eating everyone in the world because it didn’t have a name. And then the monster in the book came alive and ate Grandpa and left me all alone.”

Her words jostle your memory and you see yourself as a bright faced boy sitting in his room. Your brownblood governess reads to you aloud from a tan picture book before bed. On the cover is a green faced ghoul.

“You mean _Obluda?”_ you suggest. Jade looks perplexed and you add, “My nanny used to read that too me. It was such a creepy book but it had nice pictures in it.”

Jade leans back on the couch and continues staring at the screen. “What does ‘ _Obluda’_ mean?”

“I think it means ‘nameless monster’. I remember the inside of the book said it was published on Old Earth and translated from Old Earth Czech. The author was really popular in Young Britain because I had other books by the author. Like, I had _A Peaceful Home_ and _The God of Peace_ …”

“I didn’t like that book.” Jade says, “It was scary and I don’t even remember why and…there were _two_ monsters weren’t there? _Two_ awful monsters.” She frowns. “The monster split into two and one went east and another went west. It was such a creepy story.”

“What did your monster look like?” Jade stares at you. “I mean, what version of the book did you have? I had the old version where the monster was just this green thing with really sharp teeth.”

Jade squints. “I think I had a newer version because my monster didn’t look like that. It was like a…demon dog with…wings? It sounds so silly.” She chuckles hollowly. “Who could ever be scared of _that_?”

You don’t know what to say or do. She’s your daughter but you’re a stranger. “You should rest more often. You have to think about the both of you.”

Jade looks at her stomach and nods. “Yeah.”

You wonder if Jade would believe you if you told her she was probably the only surviving live birth on both sides of her family. You never asked her about her twin either, but you’re scared of what may be down that road. Were they badly mutated? How did they turn out being raised by Joan?

 _Joan_ , and the thought of that beautiful Amazon makes your heart ache. She’s different now but you could never stop loving the girl of the past. You were a self-centered scoundrel and treated her no better than garbage. You abandoned her in that den of sin and let horrible things happen to Troxie and her.

You take a deep breath. It’s all in the past, Jake. There’s nothing you can do for them now.


	2. an unknown caller

“Fuck. _Fuck_. Ow. Shit.”

You’re cursing a blue streak while Dirk cleans the gaping wound on your leg. “I hate to say ‘I told you so’—”

“You _never_ hate to say it!”

“That’s true, but I warned you about the tusks.”

“I know. I know. _Shit!_ What are you cleaning that with? Acid? _Fuck_!”

Dirk finishes cleaning the leg and starts heating a needle with a lighter. “You are the biggest wuss I have ever known when it comes down to pain.”

“Just because I’m a manly doesn’t mean I’m _invulnerable_. I think Batkindtroll would be crying by now. I’m not like you Trussians, who I’m starting to think are made from cement.”

Dirk smirks. “Cement and vodka.” He threads the needle and looks at you. “This is going to sting too. Do you want something to bite down on?”

“Just do it.” you grunt.

You’re sitting in the back of the truck positioned on the edge of a field. In the field are four dead musclebeasts. You still have to skin them and remove the hooves and the bones, but you can’t complete that task with a gaping leg wound. You focus on the sky and try to ignore the pain of getting stitched up.

Dirk lectures you though the pain. At times, he is like the human Kankri with how pedantic he can be. “I told you to be careful,” he says, “but _no_. You had to charge in there like a madman. Always have to be a big damn hero. That thing would’ve taken the whole leg off if I didn’t stab it through the heart.”

“I was covering you! The thing was about to take your head off!”

“I was handling it. Just be lucky it didn’t hit any major arteries or you’d be bleeding out now.” Dirk finishes the stitching and starts bandaging the leg.

“Just bandage the bloody leg so we can gut these things and _leave_.” You grumble, letting your impatience get the best of you.

That just makes Dirk’s anger flare up. “You shouldn’t be lifting anything heavy after getting _gouged in the fucking leg_.”

“I’m fine!”

“You are so damn _stubborn_!”

You argue while he stitches you up. Dirk’s paranoid about you breaking something important or getting killed protecting him. You’re worried he’s going to get _himself_ killed because he refuses to ask for help. You argue all while hefting musclebeast tusks and hooves into the back of your truck. You leave the rest for the locals to handle. Musclebeast meat isn’t edible but they can grind it into fertilizer.

You still argue in the car.

“You’re not invincible, Jake.” Dirk says, “You broke your arm dealing with that giant crab and bruised your ribs. What happens if you lose your leg?”  

“Then I’ll be fucking peg-leg Jake the Gamblignant!” you groan. “I’m more durable than you think, Dirk. Getting hurt is part of the job. That’s why people send us to do it.  And I sprained my arm. I didn’t _break_ it.”

“It was a hairline fracture.”

“A hairline fracture is not a _big_ _deal_!” Dirk rolls his eyes skyward. “Dirk, if my body can handle de-toxifying from _years_ of drug abuse, then it can handle a giant crab! And my leg is fine.”

“You say that now.”

“It’s. _Fine_.” You insist.

Your leg is still aching though and time doesn’t improve it. You refuse to show it though. You walk with a noticeable limp and a strained smile on your face, ignoring the look Dirk gives you. At home, you insist on helping him haul things from the truck to the backyard for taxidermy prepping. Karkat and Dave seem to know what’s going on because they watch and don’t bother offering to help.

When the truck is completely unloaded, you don’t have the strength to climb the stairs. You flop down on the couch next to Dave and Karkat. “Bloody hell, that was exhausting.”

“Your leg or your job?” asks Dave.

“My l— _shut up_.” you groan.

“I see where Strider gets it from.” Karkat snickers.

“Like father like son.” Dirk says, entering the room. “Do you want my help in getting up the stairs?”

“Yes, love. When I get my second wind.” you sigh.

Dirk bends down, kissing you. “If love isn’t putting up with you, then I don’t know what it is.”

“Naiveté?” suggests Dave.

“Hungering after spotted dick?” suggests Karkat. Dirk glares at him. “What? It’s a British dessert.”

“Yes I am.” You snicker before Dirk tugs on your ear.

The couch creaks as Dirk squeezes next to you, arms wrapped around your shoulder. “Don’t encourage him.”

“I’m always ‘encouraged’.” You laugh, “Where’s Jade?”

“Watering her plants.” Karkat says. Sonny Jr. walks into the room and jumps into his lap. The couch creaks loudly.

“Karkat, you shouldn’t let him on the furniture. You’re getting as bad as Jade.” Dave says.

“He’s not on the furniture. He’s on my _lap_.” Karkat huffs, petting Sonny Jr.

Jade walks into the room. “Is that sofa meant to have so many people on it?”

“No idea. We got it from a tag sale.” you say.  

Jade rolls her eyes. “I’m getting a chair from the back porch. I’m not busting my ass.”

The phone rings and Dirk gets off the creaking couch to answer it.

“We should consider getting a new couch.” Karkat says.

“Oh, it’s _fine_.” you say.

Bec walks over and jumps into Dirk’s spot. There’s another loud creak, followed by a cracking. The couch collapses and all three of you fall on the ground with the shattered remains of the couch under you.

“ _Ow_!” groans Karkat.

“What in the hell!” Dave growls, trying to sit up.

Sonny Jr. scrambles over the remains of the shattered couch, barking in panic. Karkat groans, rolling off the remains of the couch.  

“Fuck! Fuck, my _back_!” you yelp.  

“You okay, Jake?” asks Dave.

“I’m alright. Just not used to getting tossed on the _bloody_ _floor_.” You grumble. There’s a sharp pain in your back but nothing unmanageable.

“Called it.” says Jade, dragging her chair inside. She sits in it. “Looks like we need a new couch. Maybe something more durable since we’re going to have kids running around.”

“Guys,” Dirk walks back into the room, phone in hand, “we…have a situation.”

“What happened?” Dave asks.

“Well…” Dirk glances at Jade and then says, “The Office of the Chief Medical Examiner called. They want us to come down to the city morgue and…identify a body.”

The conversation dies away and the room goes silent and very still. Everyone looks to Jade, whose hands are tightly clenched but her face is tranquil.  

Slowly, she stands and nods. “Well,” she says, “let’s go then.”

 


	3. identity

The city morgue is on Sixth Street, right near the police department, the city museum, and library. You park in back of the building and walk in. The trip downtown was tense and silent. Jade won’t look anyone in the eye. Dave insisted on coming and being supportive of his girlfriend. Karkat came to support Dave. Dirk tried to talk Dave out of coming but he stubbornly refused to stay home.  

The inside smells unnaturally clean and all the furniture too pristine to be real. The sound is muffled and you can’t properly hear the other conversations. It feels like all of this is staged and the phone call was part of some cruel joke.

At the front desk is a small black carapace. “Welcome to the City of New Jack’s coroner’s office. How may I help you?”

“We…uh…” The words get caught in your throat.

Dirk gently pats you on the back. “We were called about identifying a body. You called our number at 39-3444.”

The secretary checks the computer database and nods. “Right, the relatives of the recent ‘John Bloggs’ we found. Let me page Officer Caegar and she’ll escort you with an employee.”

Officer Caegar comes into the room with a portly rustblood. Caegar is a tall tealblood with curly hair and a nose curved like a dragon’s beak. While the rustblood walks ahead, leading you through the mazelike building, Office Caegar speaks with the rest of you.

“Since the garbage strike ended, things are getting cleaned up all around the city,” she says, “and a lot more things are turning up. At first it was just generic lost items but when the cleaning crews got to the storm drains, human and troll remains started turning up. One of the bodies couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old but it was rapidly decaying in the heat. There wasn’t any ID on him so we had to match using dental records. We just want to confirm our findings.”

You enter the cold morgue. The employee pulls a body out from the cabinet and gently removes the tarp. You take a deep breath and look at the corpse. The officer was right about the heat fighting against them. It’s shriveled and dotted with mold. The lips are pulled back into a toothy snarl.

“Yes.” Jade says quietly. “This is my grandfather.”

“It’s…my father too.” You say and your voice sounds as flat and empty as Jade’s.

“I’m sorry.” Officer Caegar says, sounding genuinely sympathetic, “I know from experience how difficult it is to see a loved one here.”

Dirk looks at the employee. “Can you tell us how he died?”

“The autopsy report said that the victim’s windpipe had been crushed and then they were drowned. The throat was also cut but that may have been done post-mortem. The body has decayed so much that we can’t tell if there had been a struggle or not. No identifying papers or even a wallet was found on the victim so he may have just been mugged and the body—”

“That…that’s enough.” you say, quietly.

The rustblood covers the corpse back up. There’s a _thud_ and you see Dave is on the ground, knocked out cold. You thought he’d pass out at the sight of the corpse but apparently he held on until they started describing the death.

Karkat helps Dave to his feet. Dave is awake and alert, trying to retain his dignity. “I-I’m fine…I just…I’m fine…” he stammers.

“Does your friend need to lay down in the waiting room?” the rustblood says.

“He’s scared of corpses.” says Dirk to the rustblood.

“I’m _fine_.” Dave repeats. His face is flushed as he straightens his shades on his face.

Officer Caegar looks at Jade. “You’ll have some papers to fill out about you collecting the body and then you folks can be on your way. We’ll call you if we find out anything else.”

Jade doesn’t respond or take her eyes off the corpse. Dave doesn’t look at the corpse. He pulls Jade close but she doesn’t return the affection. You end up being the one to fill out the paperwork in the coroner’s office for her.

You go home in silence; everyone afraid to breathe a word.


	4. food for monsters

You trudge through the soggy earth, red and stinking like old blood. The further you go, the more sodden it becomes. Soon you cannot walk but must swim through the blood ocean with gore up to your neck. Everything stinks of iron and you can barely breathe. Colorful candy wrappers and lollipops drift by you, moving on the tide.

Ahead of you is a colossal mountain. It’s your father’s shriveled face, the mouth gaping and the eyes open and empty. The red sea flows from him. The wind whispers to you:

“Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a nameless monster. The monster was dying to have a name.”

 

 

A grinding sound ruptures the air, like ancient gears sticky with dust and cobwebs turning for the first time in centuries. Your father’s stone head rotates and there is the face of the green monster. The blood sea’s current pulls you toward the monster’s gaping maw. You hear a mad creature howl:

“Look at me! _Look at me!_ The monster inside of me has gotten _this big!_ ”  

 

 

You are swallowed into darkness as the monster gobbles you up, bones and all.

You wake up with sweat running down your face.

Dirk walks into the room holding a cup of tea. “How are you doing?”

You breathe slowly, trying to even out the frantic beating of your heart. “I’m alright. What time is it?”

“Seven fifty.” Dirk sits next to you and sips his tea. “You and Jade have to talk.”

You recall that your father is a shriveled corpse now. You have to have a funeral and see if he has a wall and all the rest of the song and dance. When you were young you had always dreamed about when your father would die and you’d be left to your own devices. Now you have to deal with the reality.

“Right, right…” you sigh. “How’s Jade?”

“She’s…quiet.”

Which means she’s not doing good. “I’ll go talk to her. It’s a…family matter.”

Downstairs, Jade and Dave are in the living room. The broken couch has been discarded and the two are resting on a blanket. Jade is wrapped up in another blanket with her head in Dave’s lap. _The Adventures of the Squiddles and Friends_ is on the screen. You never watched the show but Troxie had been a huge fan. You can hear Karkat clattering in the kitchen.

“Oh, it’s the _Squiddles_ …” The response to this is silence. You said four words and it’s already awkward in the room. You press on. “Which one is this one?”

“It’s Honeydew Sun-ink.” Jade says, “This is the one episode all about her and she rescues Plum Throat and Cremsicle. One of those ‘Rescue from the Scrappy Heap’ episodes.”

“I thought Plum Throat was the villain?” Karkat calls from the kitchen.

“No, that’s Skipper _Plumbthroat._ ” Jade says.

“That’s confusing.” Karkat says.

“Yeah, the writers weren’t very good at coming up with names but there’s a lot of fan theories on the similarities.” Jade says, “I heard they were going to explore it in season six but it got cancelled. That and season five was terrible. You could tell they lost most of their budget.”

You sit on the floor next to Dave. “We definitely have to get a new couch. Having to get up from the floor can’t be easy for a pregnant woman.”

“Yeah…” Jade sits up. “What are we going to do about Grandpa? Should we have a funeral?” You look at her, unsure of what to say. “Well, that’s why you’re here. We have to talk about it sooner or later.”

“I didn’t want to upset you…” you say.

“I’m not upset.” Jade says, “I just feel… _numb_.”

“Some people do that.” Dave says, gently.

Karkat leaves the kitchen carrying three plates of food. He hands two plates to Dave and Jade and sits on the other side of Jade. “Eridan felt that way for a while after his grandfather had died. People don’t always immediately break down in tears.”

“Yeah. That.” Jade says, looking no more expressive than before.

“Jade, do you know if your grandfather drafted a will?” you ask.

“I think so but I never saw it. I doubt he wouldn’t draft one.” Jade says. “He was a floor manager at Crockercorp so he had life insurance. I don’t think the payout will be very much though. Hopefully it’s enough to cover a funeral.”

“If we can’t find the will, things will be tied up in probate for years.” you say, “I changed my identity and was disinherited so Jade would be next of kin.”

“We could take Grandpa’s couch. It’s in better condition. Maybe the arm chair…” Jade hesitates.

“What is it?” Dave asks.

“It’s just…Grandpa _must_ have family back in Young Britain. I think they would want to know that Grandpa died and maybe…see him one last time.”

You make an uneasy noise in your throat. You don’t know how your Young British relatives would react to your current living situation or knowing who Jade’s mother is. “I don’t know about that. Young British people are…well, they’re a different _culture_. Grandpa left a long time ago and I don’t know how many relatives he has left.”

“I know Grandma died but what about Grandpa’s brothers or sisters?” Jade asks.

“Yeah, can’t the super-rich residents afford to live forever since they can afford medical nanite treatments?” asks Dave.

“It’s not like that.” You say, “Nanites aren’t a magical cure-all. They’re costly and only work well on certain things. Nanospas are used only for cosmetic alterations and the resources to conduct medicinal nanite treatments are so sparse that they’re reserved _only_ for people with terminal illnesses. Even in the domes there was a long waiting list of people needing nanotherapy.

“The years of inbreeding have made a lot of…my father’s…generation infirm. My mother died in her early thirties and she was as rich as they come. If someone is a long-lived Young British noble, then they out-crossed their genetics and aren’t a true ‘aristocrat’.”

“If _that_ isn’t the pinnacle of ‘human problems’, then I don’t know what is.” Karkat snorts. “So who’s alive?”

You ponder that question for a minute, thinking of the lineages previously drilled into your head. “My uncles and aunts were all dead by the time I was in my teens but Betty Crocker is my father’s cousin. They were lifelong friends. By this time her son Johan would be in charge of the company now.”

“Wait. ‘Betty Crocker’? She’s _real_?” Dave asks.

“Well, _yeah_ ,” you say, “the Crocker family founded Crockercorp. They came to this planet on the ship _S.S. Crocker._ They’re one of the oldest families on the planet and can trace their lineage all the way back to Old Earth. But they’re not…well…”  

Jade frowns. “Jake, isn’t Joan’s last name ‘Crocker’?”

You had hoped she wouldn’t notice that. “Yes. Uh, Joan and I are second cousins. Most people in the domes are related.”

“Is the rest of her family like…her?” Jade grumbles.

“No. Jade...” You sigh because now you hear her bitterness. “Jade, listen. Joan was never all there to begin with and drugs just made it worse. The rest of her family isn’t like that. If you want to meet the rest of the family, I’m sure there’s a way for you to do so. And we don’t even know for sure if Joan had anything to do with—”

“Don’t lie to me.” Jade looks you in eye. “I know I’m pregnant and everyone wants to be gentle with me, but I don’t like being lied to. _I_ was panicking while Dave was gone. _I_ was the one who freaked out and told Grandpa that _I_ was scared Joan killed him. And Grandpa left to go confront her because he is… _was…stupid_ like that.” Jade sniffles but no tears come. She clenches her teeth. “She killed him. We _both_ know she killed him so stop trying to make me doubt what obviously happened!”

You don’t respond. You didn’t want Jade to blame herself for this, but it’s too late. The walls of the room seem to close in on you and you can’t breathe easily inside. You leave for the back porch. Outside you can breathe easier in the open space but your mind feels fogged and heavy.

Your father’s dead and you can’t even work up a few tears at his behalf.


	5. epilogue: living in the sludge

**== >Jake: Be your ex-girlfriend several weeks into the past **

You are lying on an abandoned couch in the vacant lot, staring at the smoggy sky. You like this place. It’s empty and full of garbage. The ground is sloppy and toxic and few people bother you. It’s a nice place to unwind while observing the Egbert boy. From time to time, Cal comes to pester you. He is here tonight because the twins are occupied.

“Do you have any idea when we can _leave_ this dump?” Cal is playing with one of his many switchblades, sitting on a rusting fridge. One day, you’d like to stuff him inside to see how long he can go without oxygen.

“You don’t have to stay. Here.”

“I meant this _city,_ you burned out moron.”

“I don’t care. A city is a city.” you answer.

“You don’t care about anything, fucktard.” Cal looks up. “We have company.”

You sit up on the couch and see the old man approaching. You’ve seen him but haven’t spoken in years. He looks around the vacant lot and then looks to Cal. There’s no recognition on the old man’s face. Cal has changed a lot since the last time. Cal climbs off the couch and scurries off for elsewhere.

The old man approaches you. He sinks slightly in the watery mud of the vacant lot. His hand is in his pocket. You know he’s stroking the handle of his gun. The old man always has a gun.

You stand slowly, keeping your eyes on his face. You don’t need to blink and it puts most people off. Something you like using to your advantage.

“We need to talk.” He says.

“Then talk.” you say.

“I told you a long time ago not to bother Jade,” he says, “if you have any decency left in your body, you’ll leave New Jack. Now.”

“Or?”

He brings out the gun and aims it at you. “You know the alternative. There is no prison for you.”

You look down the barrel of the gun. “I’m. Sorry. I want to. See her. See her. Grown up. My little girl.”

The old man squints. “I may be old but I’m no fool, Joan. You don’t want to see her. You’re up to something.”

“You’re right.” You admit.

The old man has his finger on the trigger. He’s ready to shoot. But he stops because he hears Cal behind him. He turns around and shoots at Cal but Cal is faster than his aim. The bullet grazes past Cal’s arm and leans no blood or mark.

Cal giggles and twirls the knife in his hand. “Hee hee! Too slow, you dinosaur!”

That’s when you close the distance between the old man in you. You grab the arm holding the gun and squeeze. With your strength, it easy to break it. The gun falls in the mud. The old man grits his teeth so he doesn’t cry out in pain. How macho of him. But pointless.

You knock him to the ground and grasp his throat. He’s struggling but your cybernetic augments let you hold down Caliborn with ease. He is nothing. You just keep squeezing until you hear the _squish_ of a windpipe collapsing. The old man is gagging for air. You hold him down still and watch every rattle and twist and turn until he goes limp.

“This isn’t what. I wanted.” You sigh.

“You weren’t going to kill him?” snorts Cal.

“I was.” You admit. “I wanted to. Experiment.”

“Oh yeah like your other ‘experiments’.” Cal grumbles. “Come on. Let’s dump the old fuck already.”

“You know who this is.” You look up at him. “Don’t you?” 

“The fuck does it matter?”

Cal is pretending not to care, in his usual pissy manner.

“I didn’t plan on. Attacking him here. Not ideal.” You search through the old man’s pockets and take his wallet and phone. Breaking the phone is easy and you toss the halves into the mud. 

Cal’s blue puppet eyes are hard. You can’t remember if that’s the natural color or not. So much of him is fake that it’s difficult to remember what is real. Often, you thought about cutting him open just to see.

“It’s your fault. _You’re_ the one who told me about him.” Cal says.

“You asked me if you had family. I told you ‘yes’. I showed you pictures because you kept asking. Not my fault.” You toss the wallet at him. “Do what you want.”

You’re easily bored with his theatrics. You pick up the old man’s muddied body. He’s not breathing but you don’t take risks. You cut his throat and drain the blood into the mud.

Cal is still spitting venom, clutching the wallet. “It _is_ your fault, you burned-out fucking addict! You brought me into this world. You could have _aborted_ me but you fucking _didn’t_.”

“Why abort? Aristocrat babies sell for a high price. I wanted more drugs.” Cal glares at you, like he always does when you’re alone. It’s a look of pure hatred. The look that lets you know that one day, Cal will kill you.

You doubt he has the skill to do so but you welcome the challenge.

“Go.” You say.

Cal does leave but not without snarling. You ignore it and attend to the task of disposing of the old man’s corpse.

You are disappointed. You planned on butchering the old man in a special way as a parting gift to this place. There’s no changing what’s been done so you’ll find a new target. Maybe the Egbert boy or a troll with a rare hemotype. The latter prospect excites you.

You dispose of the body in the usual manner and then head for home, the orange-red moon seeming to follow you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fnQA-1qlgI4
> 
>  
> 
> Munch munch
> 
> Chomp chomp
> 
> Gobble gobble 
> 
> Gulp


End file.
